


To Binge

by CommunistUshanka



Category: The Owl House (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst is just Boscha struggling with her inferiority complex, Boscha annoys Willow for a bit, F/F, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Light Angst, Running Away, Self Confidence Issues, Skara has a cameo, Swearing, Very OOC, and fuck! Boscha haaates Luz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26523457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommunistUshanka/pseuds/CommunistUshanka
Summary: Amity and Boscha dick around
Relationships: Amity Blight & Boscha, Amity Blight/Boscha
Comments: 14
Kudos: 73





	1. Some Kind of Nature

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter will be better, I promise. I just wanted to take the piss out of these two gay idiots

“Where are you?” Boscha frantically wrote into her scroll, she has no reason to be worried about Amity but she is — the girl knows how to take care of herself, quite well even, but she's worried.. she's just very worried, quite more worried than she’d like to tell herself. 

She stared at her scroll until it closed on its own, stupid fucking scroll — then she scoffed and rolled her eyes, trying to keep her mind off the turquoise haired moron that had consumed her life — maybe she should be meaner to Amity today to reinforce the fact that she doesn't care what happens and that the relationship between the two of them is just casual nothing serious.

Then her scroll opens again.

“Wow, for someone who doesn't care about anything or anyone, you’re really worried about me right now.” Boscha seethes, she could feel the smugness seeping through the scroll and making her hands all wet and sticky. “I’m coming up the steps, try not to wet yourself, Polyphemus.”

Boscha growls, she hates that nickname. Polyphemus, Three-eyes, and gasp…. Princess — but she liked being called princess, even if it did trick Amity into thinking she had power over her, which she did not, and never will. 

She watches Amity come up the steps with her books clasped in her hands, slowly walking over to the lockers as if she had all the time in the world — she pushes Boscha a little bit, and placed her things neatly inside her locker, looking back at her smugly. “Miss me?” Blight smirked, coming uncomfortably close to the three eyed witch’s face.

“You finished jerking yourself off, dumbass?” Boscha rolls her eyes, Amity’s tendency to behave like this was never too charming to her.. but it was funny to witness.

“What happens if I’m not? You’ll spank me?” The side of Amity’s mouth raises into a smirk. Boscha frowns at her, perhaps the joke wasn't that funny.

“You are so…” Boscha shakes her head at her. 

“I’m so?”

“Stupid.” 

Amity chuckles and she presses into Boscha, laying her head on her shoulder — for a moment, she felt lame, gay and vulnerable — she felt like a fucking loser. Yes, her and Boscha were a thing, if you want to call it that, but they were a special thing. Other couples just kiss and hold hands and what have you, but these two are far too up their own asses to do some pussy shit like that. 

"Yeah, I know." Amity replies, looking to her sweetly. Boscha's third eye seemed to be fixated on her despite her other eyes looking away, it was sweet, it was embarassing. "Maybe we're both stupid."


	2. El Mañana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boscha has an existential crisis in a plastic chair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking, instead of ducks lets make them gargoyles or whatever but then I remembered that i'm an incompotent writer and i only write what my feeble little brain can handle and settled for ducks <3 also the butterflies have like eyes and mouths... so when Boscha picks one up it's huge tongue starts 👅👅👅👅👅

Boscha’s head hurt, both figuratively and mentally. She couldn't keep up this act anymore, it didn't matter that she was hurting people — didn't matter that she pushed the ones she loved away — she was selfish, it mattered that it was starting to get to her mentally.

Thinking like this is a sign of weakness and god — oh god — now she’s crying in a plastic white chair out in her backyard, having one of the most impactful identity crises of her life. Her head feels like it could explode — just thinking, constantly thinking of what could have been and where she is now.. Does it really matter in the grand scheme of things, this popularity thing? — she sees all these fucking losers so content with mediocrity, did they not care about making more of themselves? About having a group of losers who wouldn't think twice about lapping up your nut like it's their last meal if asked? 

ENOUGH… Enough of this...

Boscha gets on her feet, she can already hear Amity coming up the steps — she doesn't go inside, she just waits for a second.

“Can Boscha come play?” Amity asks, she practiced beforehand so she wouldn't choke herself up summoning for her girlfriend. 

Boscha wipes her face on her sleeves to avoid talking about her feelings, when Amity sees her coming up from the backyard she starts to smile a little — just a little — she was happy to see her, even if the three eyed witch wasn't that pleasant to be around when she was like this.

Amity stares at her for a moment.

“You’ve been crying, haven't you?” Boscha froze, she felt like she’d start crying again if it weren't for the fact that her emotions were guarded — by mall security, so she started crying again. “Oh god.. What do I do?”

Oh god.. Boscha thinks she's above all else, she thinks she's a god, but she's only an average person with maybe one or two above average aspects of her life — did penstagram fame matter, no.

It really fucking didn't.

Amity becomes anxious, she can hear Boscha’s shuddering breaths — she definitely had been crying. “Are you okay?” She asks, stroking her slender shoulders.

Boscha squeezes her eyes shut, “No.. but it doesn't fucking matter.. it doesn't fucking matter.”

“It—”

“I don't need you to worry for me, I can take fucking care of myself. Even if… it hurts sometimes…” 

She’s a fucking idiot — a fucking moron. She isn't even prioritizing her feelings for Amity’s sake…

Fucking stupid idiot...

\----

It is cold now, and maybe Boscha has hung out with Amity all afternoon. She still doesn't feel better, she feels fucking terrible. 

Everything makes her so frustrated, even the little things, the sound of the ducks as they flocked to the frozen pond. She feels like such a god damn idiot, why is she so fucking angry, they're fucking DUCKS! Ducks!

For a moment she couldn't control herself, planting her face in her palms, refusing to say anything even when Amity touched her shoulder. She didn't react, didnt even tell her to fuck off like usual. 

There’s no point in that, this whole charade is over. 

Boscha took a deep, long shuddering sigh, and she looked up again — looked towards Amity, didn't even know how fucked up she looked now. 

“Boscha.. I always knew you were compensating for something..” Amity commented, caressing her back as she now rested against her shoulder — “I mean… Who does this mean girl shit anymore? Like come on. Anyone with a functioning brain could tell that you have an unchecked inferiority complex and maybe some trauma from your parents.”

Boscha rolled her eyes, “You think you know everything… Hmh, I guess I have to show you these too.” She rolled up her sleeves and revealed her long, red scars — all across her wrists. “Don't fucking laugh.. I did this at a rough time in my life. I haven't cut in a while. And don't feel sorry for me either, I’m not a wuss, I can take care of myself.”

Amity folds her arms, “You always say that.”

“Ugh!” Boscha scoffs, “Yeah I’m a bitch, I know. And I may or may not have some unresolved issues, But I haven't killed myself…”

“Yet.” She mumbles under her breath.

Amity takes up Boscha’s wrist, and she kisses her scars softly — the three eyed witch winces a little, not because it hurt, but because it was a kiss.. A sign of affection, bleh... “Idiot… Don't kiss me there.” Boscha furrows her brows.

“Where can I kiss you then?” Amity smirks.

“Kiss my fucking ass.” Boscha crosses her arms — then Amity comes up from behind, she could kill her right now — “What?! Stay away! Fuck off!”

“Idiot.” Amity chuckled, wrapping her arms around Boscha’s back — her shoulders were noticeably stiff. “Maybe we should go back inside.”

“Not yet..”

\-----

“Did you know that these things live for like.. eleven months?..” Asked Boscha — Amity came back with the honey water and the freshly cut oranges, she wasn't surprised at the lifespan of the butterflies, insects didn't usually live for very long periods of time. “So like, imagine going through the grueling process of like caterpillars shit and becoming a butterfly just so you can fuck some rando and lay eggs.”

“What kind of butterfly is it?” Amity leans on her, watching the butterfly land on the orange — it’s long proboscis drawing the juice from it. 

“It’s a Mourning Cloak, they’re the only ones that come out during this time.” Boscha replied, she felt somewhat smart being able to tell Amity that.

Another butterfly lands on the orange, then another but on her finger to her wrist and to her forearm almost as if it were looking for something — Amity noticed that it's wing was torn, the poor thing.. will it even live to see the sunrise? 

Fate will decide.


	3. We Are Happy Landfill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boscha juggles hating herself with taking care of a special new "pet"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote Willow to match her anger in the episode where Luz and Amity got to fix her memories. I feel like shes supportive, but doesn't take anyones shit, like she won't lie down and take it unless she knows that someone can and will beat her ass.

“Really, Blight? I can't even take care of myself, what makes you think I can take care of a stupid butterfly.” Boscha crossed her arms, she recalls taking care of various insects in the past but not willingly — the parts were needed for a special elixir.

Amity tugs at her arm, urging her to reconsider as the Mourning Cloak feasted on a now rotting orange. “It needs you! In a way, you’re both fucked up.” She pleads, Boscha looks at her momentarily — the apparent sadness in her eyes, the way she would beg and tug at her arms like a needy child.

“Fine! Fine.” The three eyed witch hissed, mildly annoyed and worried. Boscha could find a habitat to keep it in for a while, but she didn't really know how to manage the butterfly food wise — do they need entertainment? does she have to keep it stimulated somehow, huh? what will she do?

Boscha avoids looking directly at Amity, her voice sounding quiet and subdued as she looks at her feet “.. just remember that i’m doing this for you, Amity..” The witch smiles earnestly, and she places a gently kiss on her girlfriend’s ear

“Thank you.”

Once Amity left, Boscha immediately started rifling through her drawers for the entomology scrolls from last year. It really started to hit her now, she’s in charge of keeping something alive — she could barely keep herself alive.

while rummaging for scrolls, she finds one dedicated to caring for wounded butterflies — it occurs to her that she could probably have looked it up and got faster results. “I have to.. write this down..” she holds out her hand and draws on it with blue permanent marker

1\. clean your hands loser  
2\. put the stupid fucking thing in the fridge???  
3\. get flowers  
4\. fix wing  
5\. make water and pick out some fruit for it  
6\. make your girlfriend happy you three eyed dickhead.

She kept the scroll opened while she descended the steps.. “So god damn needy, you want flowers too you spoiled bastard?” Boscha frowns, she needed to ask her dad for a butterfly cage, it would make things way easier.

She walks down the hall to her father's study, peeking in the room as he smoked from an old, mahogany smoking pipe. Boscha folded her arms and shifted about aimlessly, she had a really difficult time asking for things. “Dad, I need to go to the uh.. store.” She mumbled, loud enough for him to hear.

“For what?”

“Crack, dad. I’m getting fucking zonked tonight.”

Boscha’s nerves were like little mealworms wriggling around in a store bought container — a lot of things made her nervous even though she pretended they didn't, and her father, a hulking one eyed giant, was one of them. She looked up at him nervously as he approached her, clasping her hands and fiddling with them uncomfortably.

“Boscha” He held his daughter’s face, thumbing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Be honest with me.”

“O-Ok! Fine! Fuck! Blight gave me stupid butterfly and now I want to raise it! I know you don't like me handling bugs, but I have to do this!” She sighs, “Okay?”

“.... Okay.” He replies, clueless as to why she was so determined to care for some worthless insects. “Just make sure it doesn't escape.”

She gives him an annoyed nod, and he scruffs up her hair and she's annoyed by it — her fucking father, and his huge cyclops hands that could nearly crush her skull. Even though Boscha appreciated having a somewhat active father in her life, she wondered where her mother was, what excuse SHE had for being so absent.

Her mother.. her fucking mother.

Boscha left the house, more bitter than she found it — she remembers her mother when she was there, constantly out of it, half of the time she didn't even have enough energy to abuse her, and when she did it was usually just routine markings — burying her cigarettes into her arms, face, what have you..

She felt so fucked, this never really occurred to her, it's so fucked up.

“Shut up, shut the fuck up. Stop thinking and go to the store.” She told herself, stretching before she walked.

She looked at her hand as she turned a corner, noticing first that she needed flowers, maybe… Willow? Fuck! She wasn't even nice to that fucking loser, how is she gonna get flowers from Willow? “Damnit! Why am I such an asshole!?” Boscha groans, but then she thinks about it for a moment.. a chance to make a friend maybe?

Maybe..

Boscha catches Willow walking down the street, “Half a witch..”

“Boscha.” Willow paused, “You want something, I sense it.”

“What? I can't say hello now? We can't be friends?”

Willow rolled her eyes, it was this same dialogue every time. “While I would love to make amends, I know what you’re like. You’re only nice to me now because you want something, you’re selfish. When all of this is over, it’ll be as if this never happened.”

Boscha frowns, “Yes, you’re right. I’m a bitch. But I want to like, be better and stuff…” She flushes, sinking deeper and deeper into her own self hatred as the seconds went by. “I’m just learning.. to be a better person..”

She’s a jumbled, stuttering mess. “And it’s.. a little hard and stuff, because i’m so used to being an asshole. but now I.. I well, fuck! Willow..” The pink of her face reddens, this half a witch is making her road to redemption so hard. “What if I do shit for you? Is that good enough?”

Willow smiles, a little sinisterly as she planned to beat Boscha into submission by the end of the month. “Yeah, perfect.”

***

Boscha arrived at the Greenhouse with her butterfly contained in a small container, she couldn't get fresh fruit right now so she had her father offer up a partially eaten dragonfruit to keep it fed. Willow opens up as she sees her standing outside, judging by the clouds outside it was best she came around this time, it was gonna rain soon.

“So?”

Willow looks her up and down “Why aren't you in uniform?” she furrowed her brow, Boscha raises her eyebrows.. uniform? “You’re not gonna handle my plants in those.”

Boscha frowns a little bit, but she thinks about how she needs to make amends with Willow and get these flowers and complies, albeit begrudgingly. She slips into a pair of worn out mustard yellow overalls and a bright sun hat — she hated this, “I look like a tool..” The witch bemoans — the overalls were a tad too big for her body so they would just hang off of her, same with the shoes.

“You are a tool, now get to work.”

“Fine.” Boscha proceeded to do what she hated the most, deal with plants. She unseals a tin of dead bugs and approaches the Flytrap, it appeared to be starving as it’s long tongue coiled around her wrist and pulled her towards it. “Son of a fucking!...”

“Boscha? When it's not fed for a while it eats anything within the surrounding area. You have to place the tin and where it can find it, so you won't be eaten as well. It won't digest you, but it's an unpleasant process.” Willow chuckles a little, seeing Boscha about to be eaten by a starving Flytrap humoured her — “Just give it the food.”

“Fuck..” As she knelt over to the tin of dead insects, some of them were indeed alive, and have escaped. “FUCK!”

She picked it up anyway and chucked it into the Flytrap’s mouth, it retracted it’s tongue and let her go. “Glad my overalls protected me, eh Willow?” Boscha rolled her eyes, she grabbed the watering can resting gently on the shelf — she fails to realize that it's simply a decorative piece, and it’s out of use because of how many holes there are in it. “....”

She's quiet, twisting the garden faucet and watching the water flow out into the watering can — she notices that it wasn't getting full. “What the…” She moves it away and notices all the water, soaking her precious uniform. “You knew this, didn't you?”

“I did.” Willow laughs, “Oh yeah… That flower is ready to be harvested. You said you needed flowers, right? You can have some.”

“Final—”

“Eventually.”

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”

***

“I see it’s in a jar now.” Amity smiles, truthfully she was surprised to see that Boscha managed to keep it alive for this long — maybe she freed it and got another one because the previous one died. “No habitat yet?”

“No..” Boscha sighed, taking off her sun hat — “I wrote everything on my hand, see? I haven't gotten any of this stupid shit done because I have to earn peoples trust. It’s so hard being me, you know?”

“Well.. You could of done maybe… three of these things.” Boscha’s fingers curled up a little as she touched her palm, it reminded her of the way a certain plant — fuck? Am I becoming invested in gardening?

“....” Boscha takes out the permanent marker again, and evaluates her list. She couldn't do anything for the butterfly, but she could make Amity happy. “Do you have any names for this stupid bastard?”

“You already have a name though?”

“Not this stupid bastard,” Boscha let herself laugh, “This stupid bastard.”

“Hm.. What do you want to name it?”

“Well.. It’s gay, really good at sucking things, and has consumed my entire life.. I think I’ll call it… Blight.”

“You don't even have one, moron. Now kiss me.”

Boscha reaches out for Amity, placing her hands firmly on her shoulders. She rests her head on them, gently pressing her lips against the soft flesh of her neck. “I still don't know how to do this shit.”

“I can tell.”

She moves to glance back into her eyes. Gently kissing the bridge of her nose. “Boscha.” Amity presses her lips against Boscha’s, kissing her softly and gently. “I love you, idiot.”

“Stop being so mushy with me.” Boscha smiles, and presses her nose into her shoulder — “Hexside might think we’ve gone soft on them.”

“Well, we’ll just have to send a reminder that we're better than all of them.” The witch says, brimming with confidence.

***

Amity lays sprawled out in the middle of her bed, her hair is all messy from earlier, and now she has the devil herself clinging onto her for dear life — she would notice how Boscha would hold her, probably the most gentle thing she’s ever done, hands wrapped around her abdomen with her head pressed into her back. The girl was so lovesick, so unapologetically lovesick.

The witch pondered, restless as this constant thought plagued her. Would they ever fall out of love, would she ever tire of Boscha’s nonsense. Of course not, but things do happen, what if something came between them, what if a human came between them? Hopefully it would never come to that she thought what’s the possibility of a human coming to Hexside? What's the possibility of a human surviving the night in The Boiling Isle?

Amity breathes in sharply through her teeth, she had enough problems in her life, and worrying about some imaginary human ruining her relationship didn't need to become one. She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling Boscha’s grip tighten, was she nervous as well? Should she tell her. She nudges her a little to get her up, wouldn't even budge.

She wasn't even a heavy sleeper, Amity nudged her again and managed to get her up — she was exhausted, Boscha always looked exhausted.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I guess..”

“Do you love me?”

“More than myself, and anyone else.”

Amity smiled, and she kissed Boscha’s third eyelid — she knew Boscha was being genuine, because the girl really doesn't love herself.. Not even a little bit, maybe she never had any love for herself.


	4. Stylo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Top 20 Boscha Alcoholics Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very... messy... but it'll be fixed i promise you *kiss*

Boscha lifts herself out of bed, she had no recollection of the events of yesterday, her only reminder was a few things she scribbled down in blue permanent marker. She swallowed, _it's for that butterfly_ she thought. As she descended the steps, she was overcome with a certain chill that never rang through the house unless it were truly empty, and it was — her father wasn't toiling in his study, and she didn't really have a mother so nothing could be said about her current activities. The three eyed witch walks into the washroom, flicking on a light, and an eyeless monster opens its mouth and out comes a lit bulb drenched in drool and phlegm. 

The viscous substance hangs over her head like a stalactite, Boscha doesn't notice it — most of the living beings in her home do things she doesn't notice, most of them are sick, she doesn't notice. She pulls her shirt over her head, and tosses it into the laundry basket, as of late she hasn't really been that concerned with how she looked, it didn't even matter to her. She hated herself either way, so fixing herself up wouldn't change anything. 

She opens up her scroll, and out comes Penstagram which she usually took in like her daily news — she noticed a few messages from her comrades, she didn't really care for them anymore but she read their messages anyway.

“Saw you at the Greenhouse yesterday, Bosch. Have you gone soft on us?”

She rolls her eyes and messages back, “Popularity doesn't even matter anymore, when I’m out of this shithole I'll either have a needle in my arm or be dead. I am fucked either way.” She closes the scroll and shuts off the light, going back upstairs to her room.

As Boscha pulled on an old shirt and her usual specialized letterman jacket, she felt a strength that she had been lacking these past few days. Her life was fucked, and she was fucked, the least she could do is take out her repressed childhood trauma on some losers at her school.

A stray comb stood out to her, this was a sign. Go bully those losers.

  
  
  


Today, Boscha walked to school, ignoring all the unpleasant aspects of her relatively miserable life. She whistled, not even noticing the homeless monsters piling up on the streets, some barely clinging to life as their skin gradually rotted off their old bones — she didn't notice it, and if she did, would she even care? The steps of Hexside were within reach, she was so ready for this.

Ready to once again betray her true self.

As Boscha approaches the steps she notices Amity’s brother, she had always hated that smug son of a bitch and he had always hated her in return. She had certain suspicions about him, the fact that he was always up to no good when it came to Amity — she broke her arm once, and he wrote “LOSER” across the arm in red sharpie — and the way he was always so strange towards her, in a sort of controlling way.. She didn't understand.

She didn't know.

“What the hell.. What are you doing with her?!” Boscha hisses. “Get lost Edprick!” 

“Whatever the hell I want,” He smirks and clasps his hands in delight., “You want a turn? my little sister loves getting abused!”

He continued, “That’s why she doesn't even bother to fight back.” He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her in front of him, “Can't even defend herself.”

He then shoves her to the ground, the sound of her body falling onto the pavement as Boscha scrambled to pick her up. “I’m starting to think you’re into this kinda thing, Mittens? I bet you gush about me to your stuffed animals.” Edric commented with a smile on his face, then he walked away, pleased with himself.

“What did he do to you?” Boscha asked, rather softly.

She notices the blood dripping from her nose.

Amity swallowed. “What he always does..” Her eyes shift left to right as if she were hiding something, “Be a stupid dickhead..” 

“Here.” Boscha takes off her jacket, “Let's just get fucked up.. insanely fucked up.”

Amity shakes her head, and then blinks, she’s trying to suppress something — she can't, she feels like she’ll start crying again, “I.. I-I can't.. I have a reputation to keep up..” She replies slowly, glancing around to see if anyone was around. It isn't Edric she’s so bothered about — he only makes up about twenty five percent of her problems — it’s her father, and how he controls almost every aspect of her life, she feels like deep down in her heart he’s doing this because he cares about her, but she isn't sure.. she doesn't know.

“Who cares about that stupid shit, you know some idiot is gonna sweep us up in a couple of years and the cycle will just reset. Popularity is just a mask that we hide behind, It doesn't mean anything.”

Amity doesn't say anything, she just follows Boscha's lead.

The two of them end up in a pub somewhere west of the isle, it’s littered with seedy old monsters — none of them look like they have their lives together, some of them just decaying on the floor as if they’ve been there for days. Boscha flings open the door, holding Amity to her as they approached the bar, she couldn't even look over it, so she slid her father's busqiness card to the bartender.

“What will it be?”

“Slime and Tonic, with a complimentary human ear.” Boscha requested, the most confident she's been in years, and to order some shitty drink at an even shittier bar. She looks over and notices that Amity is looking hard, hesitant to offer up her father's card, his piercing eyes lock with hers and she just shoves it in Boscha’s hands — she's shaking, maybe she needed that drink.

“Pour her some dog piss, she needs it more than I do.” Boscha pats her back, the girl was suffering so much, it made her problems feel insignificant. 

  
  


*

  
  


Amity hides underneath a chair as Boscha looks for her hazy eyed and drunk out of her mind — she shivers there, feeling cold and alone as she frequently murmured curses to herself, thinking about Edric and her father and her mother, how they abused her how they probably didn't even care that she was sobbing in a seedy bar on the east end of the isle. She has to run away from all this, go somewhere, just escape this miserable existence, as truly nothing mattered to her anymore.

She was so far gone — pink spider elephants dancing in her eyes as she lay on her back, arms spread as she fell into the abyss that was her mind and waded in the deep end of her pool of loneliness — she could kill herself, she could die right then thinking the way she did these days. She couldn't keep the butterfly, Edric would kill it before Emira had the chance to talk him out of ruining the one pure thing she had in this world, so she gave it to Boscha.

She wonders what Boscha had done with it, to her knowledge she's taking adequate care of it, she’s making amends, she's trying to better herself even if she isn't that good at it. She's falling back into her old ways, every time she put on that jacket it was to distract herself from who she really was.. or who she really is. She doesn't think Boscha is real

She loves her, but she doesn't think she is real. Nothing is real anymore.

Boscha wandered through the bar, her skull rattled around like a pair of cheap dice — as she shouted Amity's name, scouring through dirty alleyways with drug addicted gargoyles decaying in the evening sun because she was too wasted to know where she really was — sometimes she stopped shouting because she felt a warmth, she felt something familiar, she felt _her_ Amity nestled against her, it was just the urge to throw up.

It wasn't real.

She trips over someone's foot looking for Amity and she lands face first into the warm pavement, she couldn't see that well now. She damaged her third eye. Boscha runs her rough, calloused fingers over the pink of her face, she didn't feel comfortable, she felt like rejecting her own body as the recurrent urge to vomit overwhelmed her. It did not help that people were looking at her, but she didn't even give them her energy — it was too late to suddenly care what other people think.

Amity continues under the chair, the illusions never went away — she covered her ears, trying to drown out the garbled sound of music ringing through her ears — she wanted to order another drink, hopefully one that would kill her, one more drink. 

  
  


Boscha stumbles back into the building, bleeding all over her shirt, she wasn't sobering up any time soon but the one part of her brain that functioned with alcohol told her that she needed to get out — she needed to escape. “Amity.. fuck… Amity Amity Amity..” Boscha chuckled, she fell again, and started crawling around on the floor. “Where’s that mother fucker..”

Amity could see her wallowing in her own filth, she had deluded herself into thinking she was progressing when she really wasn't. “How many did you two have?” The bartender asks, she doesn't know what to say, he should of been keeping watch because Boscha never stopped drinking, not even for a minute.

“Unsure.” She replies, and he leaves her alone.

She said she wanted to get fucked up, and they got fucked up. 

Amity peeled herself off of the floor, staggering to her feet and determined to get the both of them home — she thinks of Boscha’s question and how it sounded so sweet coming from her lips, _what did he do to you._ What _didn't_ he do to her. She approaches Boscha’s body, afraid that she was dead as she didn't even move when she touched her. “Boscha.. You th… are you there?...”

She didn't reply, but she could feel the movement of her lungs, she was breathing at least. “I’m gonna take us.. home..” Amity said, “Somewhere safe..”

She wasn't going to her place, that's for sure.

She was a rather small girl, which was expected because she’s only fourteen years old, but sometimes she didn't feel fourteen. The things she had to go through, the standards she had to conform to — she wonders why she even bothered coming out to her family, Emira supported her unconditionally, while her mother simply wouldn't have it. Edric and Mr. Blight abused her enough, but now they had to take up certain..

Corrective measures.

Amity focuses on Boscha's body again, maybe they would stay there for a while. “Maybe I can..” The Witch focuses her magic, she was still somewhat drunk but maybe she was capable of casting some magic. 

“Abomination, rise!” She hiccuped, watching her creation erupt from the ground — it knelt beside her as she picked up Boscha with what little strength she had left and placed her in its arms. It carried her, things went well for once.

  
  


*

  
  


“What the.. Where the..” Boscha glanced around, in her room again this time with Amity and her butterfly. She goes to check up on it, noticing that the creature had laid eggs of some sort, she didn't even know she had a female butterfly, not like she could tell anyways.

Boscha knelt by the bed and brushed the hair from Amity’s ears so she could properly shout onto them “Amity wake up! Wake up!” 

“…. What is it?”

“She laid eggs! I’m gonna be a mother!” She sounded uncharacteristically happy, for once things felt right in her life and all because of a lowly insect. “I kind of give a shit now, maybe I’ll treat these losers better than my mother treated me..”

“Aww, Boscha cares about something?”

“Sh-Shut up!” She flushed, “I care about you, idiot! That's why I’m all like, mushy sometimes..”

“Why not now then?” 

“Because I’m insanely hung over.. and I haven't learned how to cure those in potions class..” Boscha glanced over at her notes, thinking about how studying would of probably been a bigger headache than the one she woke up with

  
  



End file.
